A hearth not of fire, but of the cold moon might well have been the wretched prisoner’s sole comfort.  Certainly, this window served the only constant of mention.  The stones in the walls simply infuriated...

Floating endlessly beyond the blank pages lost behind the fluttering meaning flitting and flying between the moving lines around, around, around, I go, color and blood in my eyes.   Here,...

Lips stitched together by invisible thread, (his) words secluded, His (mind) is abysmal, dark and dank. His sanity (is) warped, twisted like the mangled arms of dead trees, Filled with the recesses...